The Trials and Tribulations of a Pet Owner
by OriginalPippie
Summary: The Monkees: The guys get a new pet. All but Mike are overjoyed by this newcomer to the house.


Damn. I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it. What did I tell everyone all along? Of course it would turn out this way; it was inevitable. The moment that Mr. Babbit told us that he was going to allow us to have pets, I knew it was a bad idea. I think he did it just to torture us, or me I should say. Sort of a way to get back at us for all of our stupid rent excuses and whatnot. But he didn't come out all at once and say we could have pets. Just before Thanksgiving he upgraded his "No pets at all" rule when he said "No pets bigger than a goldfish." Then a couple weeks later he upgraded that to "All small animals are welcome." Then just within the week before Christmas he upgraded that to "You can have any pet you like that can fit in the house, just as long as you keep it from bothering me." I have no idea why he had the change of heart but I wish he'd change it back.

It was Micky's idea to get a pet for the house on the first day of the year. Every day leading up to the first, he got things ready for our new pet, and by the looks of things when I saw them I knew he wasn't planning on getting a gerbil. I was hoping he'd come home from the pet store with a dog; even though I was sitting there looking at things like a litter tray, countless string and mouse toys, little jingly balls that would be great to step on, and of course more catnip than we knew what to do with. Micky loves his animals, but we already knew that about him. But what I'd like to know is, why in the hell did he have to get a _cat_? He promised about a hundred times that he was the one who was going to take care of it. He was the one who was going to feed it. He was the one who was going to clean out the cat box. He was the one who was going to take it to the vet and whatnot. Well each and every time he made those promises I mentally replied with two words: Bull. Shit.

I knew better all along. I knew it was going to turn out to be _me _to do all those things that Micky promised he would do. The moment that Micky had come home with whom he had all ready named "Little Stinker", Davy and Peter were ecstatic. Peter right away began playing with him, and even began purring and meowing right along with the damn thing. Davy just smiled and about pet the cat naked, leaving bits of fur on the floor. (And of course I was the one who had to clean the fur up off the floor.) And of course Micky had joined Peter on the floor to play with the cat. The two of them laughed amongst themselves while they rolled one of the jingly balls back and forth in front of the cat. Little Stinker tried over and over to get the ball away from them, but without much luck. (Even I have to admit that was kind of cute. But I didn't admit it to them.) Finally Little Stinker reached out with one paw and batted the jingly ball away from them and darted across the room with it. That was when I finally let out a laugh before walking away.

After walking away I spied the empty litter tray and unopened bag of cat litter. Briefly I wondered who was going to, not only find a place to set it where it would be out of the way, but to actually fix it up for the cat. I sighed, already knowing the answer. In the downstairs bathroom I found a place in the corner to put the litter tray. Then after a minute or so of wrestling with the litter bag to get it opened, and after accidentally spilling a bunch of litter on the floor and cursing the fact that I had done so, I finally had the litter box ready for Little Stinker. As I cleaned up the spilled litter from the floor, I heard the other three in the next room having fun with the cat. I just rolled my eyes as I finished cleaning.

I left the bathroom and went to try to gather up Little Stinker. This, I thought, would be a good time to show him where he could do his business, only assuming that he was already litter trained. This proved to be my first mistake with the cat. The very moment that I went up to him, he ran away from me as though his little fury ass was on fire. When I caught up to him he had climbed up to the top of one of the cupboards, and just out of my reach. (He just _had _to get up on top of the highest cupboard too.) I pulled a chair over and stood upon it. When I reached out to grab a hold of Little Stinker he hissed at me. I told him kindly that I wasn't going to hurt him but he must not have believed me. He hissed again, growled and as soon as I touched him, he swiped me with his claws. After briefly cursing I tried again at grabbing him. He clawed at me again, really digging into my skin this time. It caused me to lose my balance on the chair and then I fell to the floor. From the floor I looked up at him. He stared down at me as though he was saying "That's what you get from messing with me, bub." From that moment as I looked away from the cat and to me bleeding hand and forearm, I knew that my troubles with the cat had just begun. He and I certainly not meant to be the best of chums.

After that whole ordeal I decided that it was best for me to leave him be whenever he was up someplace high like that. Whenever he was ready to come down on his own, I would show him the litter box then. Little Stinker eventually did come down from the cupboard by himself. I thought I could take the time to show him the litter box. However, as soon as I went over to him to pick him up, he ran away from me again. Instead of chasing him a second time I just let him go. And boy did he ever go! He squatted down in front of the front door and left a little mess for me to clean up. And, yes, I _was _the one to clean it up. Peter, however, was the one to take Little Stinker into the bathroom to show him where the litter box was. _After _he had already gone, and _after _I had asked Peter, Davy and Micky twice each to do it. And wouldn't you know it? All this had taken place only within the first two hours of having Little Stinker in the house.

For the first few days after that, things with our new pet cat were just peachy. Little Stinker didn't even hiss at me a whole lot. Hardly even ran away from me. Everything during the first few days was fine and all until we discovered that Little Stinker wasn't using his litter box. Instead, he was going just about everywhere else in the house. Well after I had finished cleaning up the fifth or sixth little pile he had left on the floor (since there was no way the other guys would have touched any of it with a ten-foot pole) I was fed up. I snatched Littler Stinker up, marched him into the bathroom and tossed the little guy into the unused litter box. There he sat staring up at me with wide, frightened green eyes as if to say "What did I do?" I just looked down at him with my arms folded across my chest, and with all the authority in my voice I told him "_This _is where you piss and shit." And from that moment on, Little Stinker made sure to always do his business in the litter box. Showed him who's boss, and he knows it.

Once we, or I rather, got Little Stinker's bathroom needs squared away, the other problems with him began. Well the other guys have no problem with him at all; in fact, they adore him. And he adores them back. But me, I swear he has it out for. One morning I found him playing in my and Micky's bedroom. At first I found nothing wrong with that. So I went into the bathroom to shave, not thinking much about it. When I left the bathroom I saw him still playing away with some yarn. It was yarn that was a very familiar shade of green. When I moved in to take a closer look I saw a little puff ball of the same shade of green near by the cat. Upon an even closer inspection, and much to my dismay though not surprise, I discovered that this very familiar green yarn was the remains of my wool hat. Now all that was left was the rim with an extra long string attached. It was too late to snatch it away from him but I scolded him for it any way.

One reason why I never wanted to have a cat was because I was always concerned about it tearing up the furniture. But Little Stinker surprised me by not doing that. He didn't tear up the furniture… unless I was the only one around him. And he only seemed to favor _my _belongings. Caught him using my bed to sharpen his claws on, instead of the nice new scratching post Micky had bought for him. And then after I pulled him away from that, he jumped up on top of my bed and began tearing up my pillow. Damn it. Why aren't any of the guys ever around to witness any of this stuff?

As if that stuff wasn't bad enough, Little Stinker (whom at this point I had begun to call Little Shithead.) decided to leave hairballs where only I would find them. I found one in each of my shoes. I found one behind my amp. One was inside my guitar case. But the worst one of all was found the other night. He had somehow managed to, not only get under the blanket on my bed, but he got under the top sheet and left the biggest, wettest hairball for me. He must have thought it was the second coming of Christmas so he had to leave me a present. How thoughtful of him. And of course I didn't notice it until I crawled in to go to bed. Micky sure had a laugh over that one. I shouldn't have to say that I was less than pleased. But the worst part came the next morning. I woke up with him sitting on my face. After I had thrown him across the room I felt a cat hair in my eye. It must have stayed in my eye for the good part of the day. Because of my obsessive rubbing and watering eye the other guys thought they were funny to call me "The red-eyed grouch".

Now here I am, cleaning out the litter box, yet _again. _I've given up on asking the other guys to do it. There's no way in hell that they'd ever do anything to help out when it comes to taking care of the cat. All they ever do is play with him and pet him for hours on end while he's sitting on their laps. Peter sometimes will feed and water him. But he always spills some on the floor and neglects to clean it up. Well at least he tries to help that much I suppose. I never even wanted this cat and yet I'm the one who takes care of him. He's such a pain in the ass, I swear. If it were up to me I'd get rid of the Little Shithead. But the other guys love him so much that I can't bear to let him go.

So now I've just finished cleaning out the litter box. Every day; every single day I have to put up with it. Literally putting up with his shit. Sometimes as I'm cleaning out the litter box I have to wonder. Whose bright idea was it to take a box, fill it with tiny gravel and have your cat do his business in it? Whoever it was, I don't know whether to shake his hand or strangle him. On one hand it's nice because it keeps the cat from going everywhere in the house. On the other hand I still have to clean the box out after the cat is done going in it. If one of the guys decided to clean the box out just _one _time I'll throw him a party.

Finally I get a few moments of peace to myself. Here I sit at the kitchen table with my chin resting in my hand. I'm so frustrated over dealing with Little Shithead that I just don't know what to do. I'm going to lose my mind, no thanks to him. Damn you, Micky, for bringing him into the house! What's this now? Oh great. Little Shithead just hopped up onto the table. What's he going to do to me now? Every time I push him away from me, he insists on coming back. Why does he have to rub against my arm like that? It's so annoying and he's getting fur on one of my best shirts. "Why can't you just go away and leave me alone, you Little Shithead?" I ask him. But he ignores my question and continues to rub on my arm and purr. "If I pet you will you leave me alone?" He just looked at me so sweet that I had no choice but to pet him. The next thing I know I'm scratching him behind the ears, and he's purring even louder. He even looks as though he's smiling at me. So now I'm sitting here with Little Stinker in my lap and I'm petting him. I can't even help but smile a little as I see how he's curled up so contently on my lap. Well… I guess the little guy's not so bad after all. Just don't tell the other guys about this.


End file.
